Love.
I pinch the bridge of my nose. I have loved and lost. I dared to love again.
But to have it stolen from me once more?
A cruel, cruel punishment.
When I fall asleep, it’s Jessie’s name on my lips. Her face tattooed on my soul.
36
Jessie
I've heardtime heals all wounds.
What a crock of shit.
It's been two weeks since Sawyer walked out of my life. My heart isn't any less bruised. If anything, all my heart has done is fold in on itself. I think of him constantly. I want him all the time, with a force that frightens me.
I met Marlowe for lunch today. We did some shopping, mostly for home goods. I've been adding to a running list in my head every time I come across something I realize I need and don't have in my house. My back seat is loaded with shopping bags.
I bypass the homestead, where I'm due in an hour for a family dinner that is sure to be awkward. We are muddling our way through, and we’ll come out the other side stronger. But the growing pains are, well… painful.
There's a car parked out front of my cabin, and for the briefest second, my brain tricks my heart into thinking it's Sawyer. I don't know why. It's not even the same color as his car.
I know this vehicle though. And I definitely never thought this day would come. I peer into the rearview mirror, checking my reflection, then come to a complete stop in front of my place.
Austin leans against the closed driver door, arms crossed. He is tall, his waist trim, his arms muscled just enough to not be obnoxious. He has not changed.
He'd once seemed so desirable, almost other-worldly. Now I look at him and think of how pathetic he is.
I climb out and spin, facing him over the roof of my car. "Why are you here?"
"Hello to you, too." His smile is cocky.
I shake my head at him. "Don't try that with me."
He taps his thumb against his upper arm. "Don't you want to know how I found you?" There's a trace of pride in his voice.
My chin tips up. It's an arrogant move, one I've seen my dad and brothers do a thousand times. "Not in the least," I say firmly.
"You ghosted me."
Is that hurt I hear in his voice? How rich.
"It was the kindest thing I could do for your wife and baby."
His eyes widen. He blinks and rubs his hand over his mouth. "I didn't realize—"
"That I knew? Yeah. I do." I'm not interested in telling him how I know. I have never been less interested in a conversation in my entire life. "Why are you here?" I repeat, my voice less kind than it was before.
He walks closer, and I watch him warily. He crosses in front of my car and stops on the other side of my open door, so that it forms a barrier between us. "I heard what happened to you. With school. I'm sorry."
I blink and look away. "It was a blessing in disguise."
"How so?" His voice is soft and it draws my attention back to him. It reminds me of how we started in the first place. How he'd invited me to his office hours after I turned in a paper, and told me he thought I could do better. His voice had been soft and caring then, too, and it had felt like a hug when I'd needed one.
I need a hug now, too, but his arms are the last place I want to find myself in.
